Trailer Crêpes

FIRST: a note for you newbies... Sometimes I embed a link in my blog articles. They usually show up as light blue and underlined (purple, if you have already been to that site lately). Click them if you like. They'll take you to a page related to the topic or word. And now, this week's blog.

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What’s in a name?

Friends asked me a while ago how I came up with the name for my Blog. They were speculating that the story would be hilarious. They were wrong.

Several years ago I was at a crossroads, and felt like I wanted a new career. At the time I was an avid hiker and photographer. I even had my own black and white darkroom. I had sold a few pieces of work before, without even trying, so I looked at college courses for photographic arts, and went out of my way to get tips and feedback from photographers who were more experienced than me. I thought a long while about what to name my photo biz. My initials are RIL, so I came up with RILEYPIX.

The business plan never unfolded – it seems that trying to make a living in Vancouver as a professional photographer is “difficult”. It’s a bit like deciding to be a professional fiddle player on the East Coast. There is a little bit of money to be made, but only a little, since the field is saturated with extremely talented people.

Back then I was a fan of the band Rhymes With Orange. Their bass player’s Mom was my boss for a while. I always liked the name, so when I started this blog, I stole half of it. I'm not sure what ever happened to them...

There. That’s the story. It is also the least funny blog I have written so far. Sorry.

But speaking of names… What IS in a name?

The language we use to describe things can be very telling about our values relative to the object. Better yet, they can mask them.

This weekend it was my turn to get the groceries. Shopping off of the list – buying items that aren’t already written down – is actively discouraged at our house, especially if I’m the one doing the shopping.

This weekend though, we’re all sick with the flu. I was tired and groggy, so I took liberties and bought a few extra items at my discretion. They were items that were not on the grocery list, either by neglect or design, and in my humble judgement, they were necessary.

Pop Tarts were not on the list. I got strawberry, which has been the subject of several science experiments by drunken Engineering students.

Shopping off of the list is a forgivable indiscretion. But when one brings home contraband treats, there are procedures. I followed none of them. After the groceries were put away, as everyone else was having lunch, I sat down to a pair of warm Strawberry Pop-Tarts. Right in front of the kids. My wife raised an eyebrow and looked at me like I had just dropped (more) jam on the carpet. Evelyn was unaware, but Bridget watched in silent awe as I ate the first frosted fruit pastry. I was half way through the second when she mustered the courage to ask “Can I have a pink sandwich too?” I gave her the remaining half of mine. She had a technique all her own – licking the frosting until she got down to the pastry, then slowly eating what was left one toddler sized bite at a time.

My indiscretion wasn’t that I indulged in my craving for Pop-Tarts. In fact when I went back to have more later I noticed I wasn’t the only one who could reach them in the top cupboard. No, my sin was to have introduced them to the kids. Really, who wants to explain to your friends that you’ve taught your three year old to eat Pop-Tarts. This, in the same month that she learned that Girl Guides are big girls who bring boxes of cookies right to your door.

No, I don't want to be embarrassed in the grocery store when a stranger overhears my preschooler ask for Pop-Tarts.

That’s why I’ve taught her to call them by their proper name: Trailer Crêpes.